Independent 23: Curious Poses
by Aadler
Summary: No better fun than trying to explain the impossible …
1. Part 1

**Curious Poses  
** by Aadler  
 **Copyright April 2016**

* * *

Disclaimer: Characters from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, the WB, and UPN.

* * *

Season: post-series ( _Buffy_ )  
Spoiler(s): "Chosen" (S7-22)

* * *

Part I

The office was neat, tasteful, organized, furnished in subtle, soothing shades. The woman sitting across from Xander was perhaps forty, perhaps a bit younger, with sleek, glossy hair drawn back and fastened behind her neck with an enameled clip: stylish enough that you couldn't really call it a ponytail even if the effect was essentially the same. Her features were high-planed and patrician, with either no makeup or done so expertly that it made her look good without showing. And Xander was staring at her as if she had just sprouted a second head.

"I'm sorry," Xander said, "but _what?_ I mean, seriously, could you repeat that? because there's no way you actually said what it sounded like you said."

The woman favored him with a measured, professional smile. "Along with the general assessment we do for our Slayer-Watcher teams on a regular basis, I was asked to determine whether there might be undue influence in your working relationship with Ms. Kennedy."

Her accent was Bostonian, not the raw Southie he had heard from Faith but refined, precise. Xander was still staring, though now with a kind of stunned wonder instead of the original gaping surprise. "Undue influence," he repeated, almost numbly. He stood up to pace in the small office, stopped at one wall. The diplomas there read JONELL SKUDEA. He glanced back at her. "So is this pronounced John-elle, or Joe-nell?" he asked.

"The proper pronunciation," she replied crisply, "is 'Doctor'. And if you're not dodging the question, you're certainly stalling."

Xander sat down again, frowning slightly in the way of one concerned with choosing exactly the right words. "Tell me," he said. "Have you ever heard of something called a Kimball's balehound?"

Dr. Skudea considered it. "I believe so," she said at last. "Originally from the Chelmit dimension? Keep to themselves in a settled pack, but the mavericks are aggressive?"

"Something like that," Xander said, nodding. "Anyhow, this one time, Ken 'n' me had just rolled into a little town, and we went to check out this abandoned factory — vamps love places like that, almost as much as abandoned warehouses — and while we were still climbing off the bike, a Kimball's charges us from one of the outbuildings. And here's something you may not have heard: balehounds grow a kind of … thing, right before their throat gives over to the stomach. It's a lump of automatic-twitch muscle, and when a 'hound is hunting large prey, it can spit this big squirmy tentacle-y lump nearly twenty feet, and close for the kill while its target is trying to break loose from The Loogie From Hell.

"So that's what happens. Ken sees the 'hound the moment it starts for us and jumps in front of me, grabbing for the claymore in a scabbard lengthwise of the bike's body. And the 'hound hocks Grabby the Gross-out Glomp straight at Ken, and the thing wraps around her legs _and_ the sign we'd stopped next to, big galvanized pipe sunk into the parking lot, and Ken swings the claymore but the glomp clenches just enough to pull her out of line. The claymore misses the 'hound by a whisker and plows up about a foot of asphalt, and the 'hound decides I'm easier prey and goes for me instead, it managed to get between us and I've got no weapon so I do what I do best and I _run,_ cut around the gate into the factory yard and hope I can find shelter. There's a little guard booth just inside the gate but the door is broken, so I jam up into the booth and start kicking to keep the balehound back, and he is just _seriously_ unimpressed, and it's lucky I'm wearing really good boots 'cause I've got nothing else.

"Now, Ken can hear all this; I mean, it's been maybe fifteen seconds and I'm just on the other side of the wall, but she can't get to me because she can't kill the thing clamping her to the signpost — it's not _alive,_ no vital organs, just a hunk of clench muscle — and while she's trying to hack through it, I'm auditioning for demon-pet-chow just a few feet away. So the hound gets a mouthful of my pant-leg and pulls my feet out from under me, and I'm trying to push him back with the soles of my boots, and I hear this yell from the other side and _crunch!"_

Xander smacked his fist into his palm for emphasis. "Since she couldn't get loose fast enough, Ken heaved the motorcycle _over the wall_ and squashed the balehound in his tracks. Aiming by sound." He leaned toward the doctor. "And are you really trying to tell me _that's_ what I'm taking advantage of?"

The open, flabbergasted exasperation in his tone and expression would have been enough to make Dr. Skudea smile even if that hadn't been the optimum response at the time. "You make a good point. Or would, if your initial presumptions were accurate."

Xander sat back in his chair, relaxing as if in resignation. "Oh, yeah, people are always telling me I jump to conclusions. So which one did I get wrong this time?"

Dr. Skudea held the smile. "Well, you seem to be operating on the assumption that we believe _you_ were the one exerting undue influence."

And again he was staring. "That … that is wrong on so many … No." He shook his head, hard. _"No._ It's nothing like that. I mean … you do know _Ken's_ history, right? As in, likes girls every bit as much as I do, and has snuggled with quite a few more than I ever will?"

Dr. Skudea tilted her head to regard him, and her smile was mild enough to trigger warning bells in anyone who had seen Rupert Giles smile in exactly the same way when he was thinking of giving Ripper a turn on the floor. "Are you formally stating, then, _for the record,_ that there is nothing between you and Ms. Kennedy beyond the standard Slayer-Watcher relationship?"

This was a man who had grown far from his callow beginnings, was known to have dealt with his own demons and then many others around the world. He returned her gaze steadily enough, and the tiny flicker in the muscles around his eyes might even have been her imagination. (Might have been. It wasn't.) "Nothing standard about either one of us," he said. "We're still making it up as we go … which is what Giles wound up having to do with Buffy, if you think about it."

Dr. Skudea considered that. "I am not aware," she said, "that Mr. Giles ever engaged in sexual congress with his Slayer." Xander's wince was visible this time. "We both know that _you_ have done so, with yours, just as we both know that your attempt at evasion was half-hearted and without any real hope on your part for success." She opened the leather portfolio to reveal a yellow legal pad, readied her pen. "You have always known this moment would come. It has come. Shall we begin addressing it, or must we squander further time in pointless delays?"

Xander sighed, and didn't so much slump as release tension that had been carefully masked till now. "Yeah, me 'n' Ken are together," he admitted. "And yeah, I always knew we'd have to face the fallout on that someday." He sighed again. "Guess that's today."

"Indeed. And I must stress that, to us, the fact of your affiliation with Ms. Kennedy is considerably less important than the _nature_ of that affiliation."

"Because I have to be protected from scheming women." He shook his head mournfully. "Protected. It just never ends."

"The information available to us doesn't render such a suggestion impossible," Dr. Skudea went on relentlessly. "Consider: as she has claimed in times past, Ms. Kennedy grew up in a wealthy household … but, we now know, this was as the daughter of the family's housekeeper, and it became necessary for that family to discharge her mother after the younger Kennedy became involved, at age fifteen, with the family's eldest son —"

"She told me about that," Xander interrupted. "Not to make herself sound better, she just wanted me to know she _hadn't_ turned lesbian because some guy done her wrong." He shook his head. "She was dumb, and the guy was a completely typical teenage jerk, and the family _way_ overreacted … but not as bad as if she'd gone for the younger daughter, which she was already savvy enough to see would NOT go over well."

"Be that as may," Dr. Skudea said. "Next we find her, upon arrival in Sunnydale, promptly entangling herself with Ms. Rosenberg, and misrepresenting her own past to give herself greater standing —"

"She was trying to make Wil _less self-conscious,"_ Xander insisted, interrupting again. "Ken's got a lot of confidence, she could see Wil didn't, and yeah, she was afraid the age thing would make Wil feel like she was dealing with barely-not-jailbait. So she fudged some things to make their status seem closer to equal, not to pump herself up but so Wil wouldn't think she was _taking advantage_ of a 'vulnerable young girl'." His tone clearly indicated exactly how vulnerable he believed Kennedy to be.

Dr. Skudea nodded with just a hint of impatience. "Yes, yes. Next, however, there was the matter of their rather spectacular public break-up, a year or so afterward. There are any number of theories as to what brought that about, but the true cause has never been determined."

"Because neither one of them would ever talk about it with anyone else." Xander spoke as one putting deliberate effort into being reasonable. _"Neither_ of them. Ken finally told me a little bit about it — a _really_ little bit, and only after we'd been working together for more than a year — but even that was mainly to say that it wasn't Willow's fault."

"And then there is you," Dr. Skudea concluded. "Her involvement with you will make her _second_ known change of … perhaps not orientation, perhaps more in the way of focus … and it is increasingly clear that this involvement, at the very least on your side, is deeply personal, emotional rather than simply sexual." She leaned toward him slightly. "The pattern is not inconsistent with that of someone using her body to cement relationships that systematically increase her status, which would clearly be cause for concern."

"That's not how it is," Xander protested. "I _swear_ it isn't!"

"If not, then not." Dr. Skudea sat back. "Be assured, however: we _will_ establish the truth of this matter to our satisfaction. And that is the responsibility I have been given to pursue." She opened her notebook to a new page, clicked her pen, and looked to him. "Shall we begin?"

~ – ~ – ~

Where Xander had initially feigned incomprehension as a defense mechanism, Kennedy bristled with poorly suppressed hostility. "This is crap and you know it," she announced.

And, where Dr. Skudea had addressed the man with cool professionalism, she chose amusement in dealing with the woman. "You are an expert on crap, then?"

Kennedy shrugged, with a half-sneer that Dr. Skudea suspected might have been consciously copied from the infamous Faith. "I've dealt with enough of it over the years. And a lot of that was from bureaucrats. So are you another one who cracks whatever little whip she has and _prays_ that nobody ever thinks to call her bluff?"

Dr. Skudea tilted her head slightly, studying the defiant Slayer before her with interest. "Well, now. I have the oddest feeling that was supposed to put me on the defensive." She tossed a shrug of her own. "There is one matter we might as well get out of the way at the beginning; otherwise it will simply hang in the air, unspoken but impossible to ignore."

"Yeah?" Kennedy showed teeth in a tight smile. "Okay, give me your best shot."

"We both know that, if you chose to stand up and walk out of here, there would be no possible way for me to stop you. We also know that you won't do any such thing, for two reasons."

Kennedy held the smile, with perhaps more teeth. "You're sure of that?"

Dr. Skudea gave her a severe look. "Head games is a poor opening gambit against someone who does such things for a living. To continue: the first reason is your knowledge of Mr. Harris's loyalty. Not perhaps to the larger Council, though that has never truly been put to the test; but its founders, its foremost personnel, are his oldest and dearest friends, more precious to him than any family has ever been. Even if you were entirely confident that he would choose you over them, you would not make such a demand, not if you do indeed care for him.

"The second reason is more basic and direct. If you and he were to repudiate the Council's authority, declare yourself not bound by their rulings or laws, there would be no penalties exacted against you … but Council resources and backing would be immediately withdrawn, leaving the two of you completely on your own. You surely know by now that he is fundamentally incapable of giving up the work the two of you do, and you know that continuing it _without_ all possible support would increase the likelihood of his early death. Because of this, however you may dislike submitting to our judgment, you will do so, because the alternative is utterly unacceptable to you."

Kennedy had gone completely still as the psychiatrist spoke. Very softly she said, "If you know anything about me — if you've even _heard_ anything about me — you know that threats are a really bad idea."

Dr. Skudea dismissed that with an impatient wave. "There is no threat, only the foreseeable consequence of a choice that you _will not make_. I simply said it aloud so that we may dispense with it. Are you prepared now to get down to serious discussion?"

Kennedy slouched back, face set in disgust. "Fine, whatever. I can already see how this one is supposed to play out: somebody has to dash in and save Xander from that man-eater Kennedy. Well, I have news for you paper-pushers, which is Xander _never_ needs saving. He may put himself out on a limb, sure, and trust his partner to come through in the clutch because it's a _Slayer_ he's managing and that's just how it's done. But rescuing, no. Whatever is going on, whenever it is or wherever, you can count on Xander being on top of it."

Dr. Skudea considered. "To begin with, I understand that 'man-eater' is essentially the exact opposite of your customary role —"

That drew a scornful grimace from Kennedy. "Oh, yeah, nothing at all snotty about _that_ comment."

"— and then there is the fact that you sound remarkably like someone caught up in the legend of Xander Harris the aw-shucks superman."

"It's a legend because he keeps doing it," Kennedy said grimly. _"Myth_ would be if it was made-up. Nobody could ever make up anything as over-the-top as what Xander does all the time." She looked up suddenly. "Nobody not-named Andrew. Seriously, why haven't they put that boy on meds yet?"

"Everything you say reinforces the impression that you're totally dazzled by his reputation," Dr. Skudea observed mildly.

"Reputation, nothing. These are things I've seen him _do."_ She glared at the psychiatrist. "Last year, he had to handle a vamp crew by himself — not a bunch of low-hood bangers, but an actual hit-squad — on a moving roller coaster." Her eyes seemed to turn inward. "By the time I was able to get to him, he'd taken out four of them, and I swear it looked like the last one was trying to get away. And Xander? all he would talk about was how he really, really needed to change his underwear." She looked up again. "That's not 'reputation'. That's … that's Xander. Me, yeah, I could manage five, six, seven at once. Done it before. But on a _roller coaster?"_

"Impressive, I'll agree, but you can't seriously claim such an exploit as typical."

"Didn't say it was typical." Kennedy stood up and began to pace. "That was just the first one I thought of. You want more? Baton Rouge, I'm fighting a bunch of Connaught demons up and down the wharf, and I'm in trouble: they're hereditary warriors, carrying weapons they know how to use and trained at working in small-group tactics, and I can tell they're about to funnel me into a small enough space that my speed won't be enough to tip the difference. Then Xander, he's stolen a fire boat, he starts blasting the Connaughts with high-pressure water while I kill the ones he's knocked down and disoriented, and then while I'm trying to take out the last few before they can recover, he charges in with a fire axe to keep 'em distracted while I finish them off.

"Jersey, we're separated in the warehouse district, trying to track a Hodenbosch shrike. When I finally find Xander, he's … God, I _still_ don't know what he did, something with glow-sticks and Silly String and those wind-up toy monkeys with banging cymbals, the shrike is squalling and trying to tear its way out through the walls and Xander is dancing around it about ten feet away, tootling away on a kazoo — never would explain what that part was about, the bastard — and he's got the shrike so crazy and confused that me taking out this fearsome killing-thing is about as dramatic as peeling a banana."

"I'm sure all these stories are pertinent," Dr. Skudea interjected, "but sooner or later we _have_ to —"

"Last one, I promise," Kennedy said. "For now, anyway. So, eight months ago, Minneapolis, high-rise still under construction, and we're closing in on a vamp who calls himself Drennan. Just one vamp, but he's an old one, wily, not so much powerful as slick and smart and dangerous as hell. Anyway, we've got a tip that for now he's set himself up in one of the unfinished penthouses, and we run a canned spell that one of our shamans gave us, bound up in a scroll, and it confirms our tip so I play it safe and send Xander downstairs while I get set to close in on our target." Her mouth set in a hard line. _"Really_ safe, elevator clear on the other side of the building where Drennan wouldn't hear it. Which is why _I_ didn't hear when Drennan cut the elevator cable."

Dr. Skudea nodded slightly. "Obviously, Mr. Harris wasn't killed."

"Nope." Kennedy shook her head. "Banged up pretty hard, though. And dragged himself away, because he knew there'd be follow-up. He picked a place that was part supply room and part building maintenance office, got himself settled in behind a desk … and left the door open."

That brought a lifted eyebrow from Dr. Skudea. "Not trying to hide."

"He _wanted_ to be found," Kennedy said. "Because … well, we'll get to that part.

"Now, the thing to remember is I didn't know any of this. I started out by easing up to the penthouse, only Drennan wasn't there, and along the way I ran across a bunch of booby-traps I had to work my way around. So, with no vamp, I started looking for more traps, because each one was a place he'd been and that might eventually lead me to something. Maybe he didn't realize he was leaving a trail of bread-crumbs; more likely, it was part of a larger trap because he really was that sharp. Anyhow, I took my time, watching for any sign I might be getting caught up in something I wasn't seeing. With one thing and another, it took me maybe forty-five minutes to work my way down to the basement. And finally I start hearing something, and I've been quiet already but now I'm a ghost, and as I get closer I can tell it's two people talking, and even closer I can tell one of them is Xander. … Which is a surprise, but he's _talking_ so it can't be too bad. So I ease up next to the door, and get my stake ready in case I need it — because I still don't really know, I'm not one of the Slayers who can detect a demon or vamp by tummy-tingles and Xander _never_ lets up about knowing your target before you kill — and I gather myself and jump into the room …"

Kennedy stopped, drew a long breath. "He was fast, God, you couldn't believe how fast. I'd been ready, and I'd caught him totally by surprise, Xander confirmed that for me later, but Drennan was at my throat the instant I cleared the door. Except Xander had been just as fast, **which isn't possible,** he put four three-inch steel spikes in Drennan's back with a nail-gun he'd kept hid the whole time they were talking, and I caught Drennan in the belly with my first stake-thrust but got the next into his heart."

"Teamwork," Dr. Skudea said with approval. "And nicely done."

"More than that," Kennedy went on impatiently. "Xander had seen a couple of the booby-traps while he was looking for a place to hole up, and realized that Drennan might have figured a way to get me while I was focused on them. So he set himself up as bait, and sucked the guy in, and _kept_ him there by pure power of mouth: jokes and bullshit and verbal tap-dancing, letting things slip now and then so it looked worthwhile to keep working him for information, talking about how his Slayer would be along any minute now but making it sound like a bluff, so Drennan must have half-figured Xander had come in alone for advance scouting and there was all the time in the world. When I tried to help Xander out from behind that desk, though, he nearly passed out. So I said _screw it_ and just heaved the desk out of the way …"

She stopped, her face still strained at the memory, then went on, soft and controlled. "The elevator crash had driven a two-foot length of rebar through his leg. It was still there, twisted in a way that winched the material of his jeans around it to close the wound to a slow leak; Drennan would have smelled the blood, but probably put it down to the general banging-up that comes from being _dropped down an elevator shaft._ Xander had sat there for close to an hour, in agony, breezy and casual, stringing along a killer just to keep him busy, and when I finally showed up, it was _him_ who saved _me."_

Kennedy sat down again, her hands flat on the table in front of her, and her eyes bored into Dr. Skudea's. "This guy doesn't need rescuing, he doesn't need anybody watching out for him. All he needs is somebody who can live up to how much trust he gives a partner … 'cause when Xander is in, he's _all_ in."

Dr. Skudea nodded thoughtfully. "You do make him sound formidable."

"You better damn bet on it," Kennedy said in answer.

"The problem," Dr. Skudea said, shaking her head slowly, "is that you're reinforcing some of my concerns."

Kennedy sat back. "The guy's a rock-solid operator, a total bad-ass, and that _worries_ you?"

"Consider his record," Dr. Skudea pointed out. "The tales of 'Xander the Demon Magnet' are, of course, grossly exaggerated for comedic effect, but they derive from a known factual foundation. Within a single three-year period, he was sexually or romantically involved with —" She consulted a notepad. "A mantis demon, an Inca mummy, a future seer, a budding witch, a Slayer, a former vengeance demon … and this was _before_ his reputation had assumed its current status." She looked up. "Finally, there is the well-known fact that he lost an eye, directly in your defense, before you achieved Slayer status." Her gaze was steady. "It would be understandable if you felt this as a debt."

"Well, yes, that _would_ be one of the side effects of owing him my life." Kennedy's own gaze sharpened abruptly. "Wait a minute: you think _I'm_ the one who needs saving here? From _Xander?"_

Dr. Skudea shrugged. "As I said, there is a documented history of mystical women being drawn to him. Less remarked upon, but equally true, is that he _responds_ to them. Strongly. Such a pronounced tendency could certainly have an effect upon a working relationship, even if there were no deliberate intent involved."

"Not a chance," Kennedy said flatly. "Xander would never do that, never do anything like that. He'd hate the _thought_ of doing anything like that. What you're talking about … that's not Xander."

Dr. Skudea gave a measured nod. "Your conviction in this matter does not mean you are correct in your opinion, but it will be one of many things that I consider." She raised a cool eyebrow. "One of _many_ things. Be assured, we've only barely begun here."


	2. Part 2

Part II

"No," Xander admitted, "I didn't much cotton to Ken in the beginning. Remember, though: the beginning was clear back in Sunnydale, where every day seemed to bring in another new girl or two that we had to find a way to shoehorn into Buffy's house. With that many of 'em crammed in, and us the support staff, I had some problem or other with pretty much all of 'em." He started ticking it off on his fingers. "Rona was sloppy. Vi was nervous and twitchy. Jean didn't like the food. Corrie was always making goo-goo eyes at me. Caridad —"

"I take your point," Dr. Skudea said, nodding. "Still, even after things had settled out to some extent, there are several reports that you didn't approve of Ms. Kennedy's relationship with Ms. Rosenberg."

"I wouldn't say 'disapprove'," Xander replied after a moment. "I did have reservations, though. Oh, yeah."

"And what was the source of these reservations?"

Xander shrugged. "Some of it's what I already said. Wil's always been really sure of herself on anything about facts — science, computer ops, spellworks — and really NOT when it came to her personal life, and Ken was so … so _Kennedy_ about everything, I might have been afraid my bestest old bud would get bulldozed just because she couldn't figure out how to stand up for herself. And on the other side of that, the girls coming in were all so young, Ken really might have _been_ jailbait, which would have been just a totally weird situation when Dawn had been halfway in love with me for years and I'd spent all that time very carefully _not_ letting my mind go that way. And —"

He stopped. Dr. Skudea waited, and after not quite a minute she prompted, "Yes?"

Xander sighed, shook his head. "I've pushed this to the back of my head for so long, it's a little hard to call it up again now, but maybe a lot of it was to do with Tara."

"Ms. Rosenberg's first female paramour, yes." Dr. Skudea gave the impression of someone deliberately choosing not to lean forward in eagerness. "The Council have … very little information about her, or about the relationship. It has figured centrally in a number of active controversies, none of which have been resolved."

"And I'm not about to be settling any old arguments," Xander replied firmly. "Except maybe by accident, I don't know. See, Willow started getting stronger with the magicks about the time she met Tara, and even though we were there to see it, I still don't know if it was just the timing or if Tara had something to do with it: if the two of them being together brought something out of Willow that wouldn't have been as strong without Tara, or at least not that strong that soon. What I _do_ know is … Tara always supported Willow, but she was also a, a sort of safety brake. Willow was crazy powerful almost from the beginning, but Tara _felt_ magic like it was just another part of her, and she'd be a voice of 'careful, honey' if Willow tried to push things too far too fast. … Which, back then, seemed to happen like every other week. Ken, now? she was so gung-ho, I couldn't see her doing anything like that. More like, _What's that you say? Blow up the world to stop the First? Wait, you mean you can_ **do** _that? That's so **cool!**_

"Also …" Xander sighed, shook his head. "Lot of things going on back then, and I'm not a hundred per cent sure what I'm remembering is what was going through my head at the time. This one, though, it also goes back to Tara. When she first got with Willow, that took some getting used to because it was so _completely_ different, but things between Wil 'n' me were still the same, you know? It added to Willow, but it didn't take away anything _I_ had with Willow. Well, except for that last little naggy worry that Days Of Fluking might ever pop up again, and I wasn't sad at all to let go of _that_ one. With Ken, though —"

He stopped again, and this time Dr. Skudea let the pause go on, because Xander was clearly finding the words for something he could already see. Finally he said, "With Willow and Ken, it was different. Willow and Tara, Willow and Ken, different people, sure, but there was more to it than that. They were different _to each other_ … and, let's face it, Ken was more masculine than I was, even while she was still all nice curvy girl, and how could I be _me_ with Willow when somebody else was doing it better than I could?" He looked to Dr. Skudea. "I don't know if I'm telling it right, and I don't know how much of it I'd really thought through at the time, but that's part of how it all fit together. And some of it, let's be honest, is we were having to juggle a lot of different things back then, and a new relationship was an extra piece I just plain wished we hadn't had to handle on top of everything else."

"And none of these issues were in place when she was assigned to you as a Slayer?" Dr. Skudea tilted her head. "Or was it that you were assigned as her Watcher?"

"You could call it either one," Xander said with a shrug. "I heard, after she and Wil split, they were having trouble matching her up with anybody. I volunteered, figured even if it didn't work I could still send up some feedback that'd help 'em do a better job next time, and I'd got enough of a rep recruiting some of the new girls out of Africa, the upstairs brass was willing to give it a shot. Ken was like, _Really? Ah, what the hell,_ and we just focused on the job and got all the little snags sorted out after we'd been working together awhile."

"I understand," Dr. Skudea said, her pen making a quick note on the pad she held. "But the prior question regarded whether any of your earlier concerns about Ms. Kennedy were present in your own working partnership with her, even at the beginning."

"Pretty much none of 'em," Xander said. "Let's face it, most of those had to do with Ken and Wil, and _that_ wasn't part of the picture anymore." He grinned suddenly. "And as far as me not being able to compete with her? _Nobody_ can out-power a Slayer at the things Slayers do. That part was _better_ now, 'cause I had the world's best excuse." The grin smoothed back into his normal, faintly ironic expression. "Seriously, if that was a problem, you wouldn't be looking at me 'n' Ken, because I'd never have made it this far. Nobody can work with Slayers unless they're okay being support staff while bodacious babes supply all the muscle."

"Very well." Dr. Skudea made another note on the pad. "All this is preliminary, of course, but I only have a few more questions before I will feel my initial survey to be complete. First, when and how did a working relationship become something else?"

"It didn't," Xander said, shaking his head. "Whatever I have with Ken, that's not _instead of_ the whole Slayer-Watcher deal, it's _on top of_. We still take care of business — taking care of business is what our life's about — there's just more to it now. But as to when …"

He came to a stop, sat thinking for a minute, then another. At last he said, "It's hard to name a moment. I like women, like them a _lot._ If I'm around a woman, especially the ones my life has been full of since I was, oh, sixteen years old, the attraction is always there for me, there's always part of me that'd love to follow it out. And, starting with Buffy and Willow, I got plenty of practice at pushing that into the background while I focused on what needed to be done. Which is good, 'cause I got a lot of use out of that while I was mentoring girls out of Africa. It's different with an experienced Slayer, but the new ones are like kids … _dependent,_ in ways they can't even see, on somebody who can tell 'em the score and show them the limits, and you just don't mess up that kind of relationship with anything else."

"Understood," Dr. Skudea said to him. "Also understanding, of course, that Ms. Kennedy decidedly _was_ an experienced Slayer by the time the two of you were partnered."

"Yeah, yeah." Xander waved it away. "Just making my point, which is that I know all about lines you don't cross. On which subject, a woman who's strictly into women? not even any temptation there, 'cause you already _know_ there's no chance."

Dr. Skudea simply raised an eyebrow, and Xander sighed. "I know. But that's how it's supposed to work, right?"

With a slight shrug, Dr. Skudea said, "One would certainly think so. And yet, we've once again strayed from the subject."

"Do I deconstruct your segues?" The grin was still there, but his gaze was level. (Excellent job with the prosthesis; Dr. Skudea knew one eye was false, but she honestly couldn't tell which one.) "The subject was when things changed, and how. I'm building to that. So, yeah, Ken is totally boss in every sense of the word, so every time the Idiot Jed part of my mind went _Ni-i-ice,_ the part of me that cares about little things like staying alive and ungelded, would step up and kick him to the curb. Nothing new there, right? Been doing pretty much exactly that since sophomore year, meaning close on ten years by that point." He paused, and sighed again. "It was so familiar, basically second nature, that it took me a while to realize that this automatic reflex had got to where it was kicking in _all the time."_ He looked to Dr. Skudea. "I'm not sure you understand what that means. I was in love with Buffy from practically the first moment I saw her, and that took years to go away … but _even while that was still going on,_ Idiot Jed generally knew to stay in his place, or else do his pratfalls somewhere else. Staying in control with Ken wasn't any harder, but it was _constant."_

Dr. Skudea nodded, pen ready for the next note. "And did this realization prompt you to change the nature of the relationship?"

"What? no. No, no, no." Xander didn't — quite — shudder. "That was just when I knew we might have a problem. No, things didn't change till …" He stopped.

As before, Dr. Skudea waited, because once again it was obvious that Xander was trying to work out how to say something. This one went on for longer than before, till at last Xander started up again. "Imagine you're thinking of taking a vacation," he said. "You don't know yet if it'll even be possible, but it might, and if you decide to go for it, you've already got a spot picked out. So you start finding out what you can. Reviews, tourist brochures, weather reports, news items. You look up population statistics, coming events, things folks recommend and things other folks warn may not suit you. You're not committing to anything, right? Just scouting the territory to give you a better idea if this is something you want to do if it ever turns out that you _could."_

Dr. Skudea allowed herself a small smile. "I believe I can follow the analogy."

"Well, somehow or other that's what Ken 'n' me wound up doing. I don't really know when, because at first it was more of what we'd been doing already, both of us learning what we could about this person we were working with. And some of it was after-the-fight blowing off steam, relaxing and letting our hair down … and some of it _absolutely_ was _Hey, that girl over there, the one with the boots: wanna see which one of us can pick her up?_ " He checked for a moment, and said, "That one always came from Ken, by the way. And she has a good eye for picking out which gals really might be a fifty-fifty shot for either one of us, so she was playing fair." He shook his head. "We never followed out on that, her _or_ me. At least on my side, it was pure joking, because you don't want to get into any kind of contest with a Slayer."

Dr. Skudea smiled at that. "Yes, I've noted that they tend to be … competitive."

Xander's answer was a short laugh. "No, really? Take it from me: with these girls, 'competitive' is what you have before you add rocket fuel. You _never_ compete with a Slayer, 'cause they always win … and if by some miracle you _do_ accidentally beat one, she'll just come back and beat you five times as bad the next time."

Dr. Skudea nodded acknowledgment. "That wasn't your only reason, though, was it? for not getting into 'pick-up contests' with Ms. Kennedy?"

"Nope," Xander answered. "By then, we weren't just learning things, we were sounding each other out, and both of us knew it. Something we weren't even talking about, and we were still exploring every little corner of it that we could. There wasn't any question what was going on, but we still never actually said it."

"Until you did," Dr. Skudea noted.

Xander sighed mournfully. "It coulda gone on forever. It got to where we were actually involved with each other, closer than I've ever been to anybody … but still not. We talked around it, we never touched each other except as part of the job … I wasn't about to break that, I've face-planted in too many different ways to want to do anything like that again. Plus, let's not forget this was my best friend's ex. Talk about opening a can of worms —!"

"You've made this point at some length," Dr. Skudea said with just the slightest edge of impatience. "Yet you're currently insisting on the impossibility of something you have already acknowledged to exist."

"It was impossible for _me_ to do anything," Xander clarified. "Or maybe not impossible, but it was definitely never gonna happen." He chuckled. "But then, I wasn't the only clown tooting a horn in this particular circus."

Dr. Skudea registered that with a near-microscopic twitch of her mouth. "You are saying Ms. Kennedy was the one to initiate the relationship."

"Swept me right off my feet," Xander agreed, his grin reminiscent. "I was pretty much a gone puppy anyhow by then, but yeah, she was the one who decided. Which was probably the only way that would ever work." He looked to the psychiatrist. "And I can see that would feed in to your theory of Ken basically sleeping her way to the top, but two things: first, we were _both_ there by then, she was just the one to say it out loud; and second, how exactly is being with _me_ supposed to get her ahead, anyhow?"

~ – ~ – ~

"There were tensions," Kennedy said. "Most of my life, I'd been taught that I was special, raised and trained to be ready for this big destiny of mine. And I could tell it was true: I was quicker than other kids my age, better coordinated, stronger than I should have been, picked up any kind of physical skill like it was something I already knew and I was just going through a refresher course —" She stopped, smiled. "Plus, I was smoking hot. Can't forget that one."

"Indeed not," Dr. Skudea said, nodding. "And?"

"And … well, I don't know if I can explain it." Kennedy shook her head. "Most Potentials are pretty independent, want to make their own decisions, but I've just always been a naturally take-charge person. I tend to want to _run_ things. People react to that, they avoid you or they resist or they stand back and snipe at you … or else they fall in line and follow the leader, because some people are like _that._

"Xander …" She gestured helplessly. "Xander didn't do any of those things. He didn't respond at all, it was like it didn't even register. The house was full of girls, and I was one of them, and he just … dealt with me like I was part of the job. And I don't mean he pigeonholed me as a generic Potential; he saw all of us as people, treated us as individuals, there were always half a dozen girls crushing on him or ready to if they ever thought there might be a chance —"

"But not you," Dr. Skudea observed.

Kennedy brushed it away. "Different wiring. Anyhow, it didn't change after I became a Slayer, I was still one of lots and he was still busy doing whatever needed to be done. Then, after Willow and I separated, nobody could figure out exactly what to do with me." She glanced at the doctor. "Do you know how it is with Willow and the rest? how they see her?"

"I believe I do," the other woman replied. "But explain it anyway. How _you_ perceive it is naturally pertinent, and —" A flash of a smile. "— I might learn something."

"Willow is a big deal," Kennedy said. _"Major._ Maybe the most powerful person on the planet, definitely in the top ten. When she talks, people listen. Giles can overrule her, because she respects him, and the same with Buffy, but anybody else? they have to _convince_ her they're right, because she thinks she knows everything and usually she does. She and I ran the Slayer cell in Rio, together, so I was big, too, just by being with her.

"When … when we weren't together anymore, I left Rio. Could have been either one of us, I guess, but I just felt like there were too many memories there. Now, I'd made a name for myself, I hadn't spent those two years just riding Willow's coattails, and they didn't really have anything solid I could jump straight into, and I guess they figured anything _too_ small would feel like a demotion to me. I'm pretty sure Giles could've come up with something, but he was all caught up in setting up an actual unofficial Slayer HQ in China … anyhow, I sat in a room at the Palma Royale in Majorca for a few weeks, trying to pickle myself in _herbas dulces_ and waiting to see how things shook out. Not playing hard to get, just not in any hurry.

"Then I got a note from the Council, very cautiously worded, that Xander had offered to partner with me.

"Now, I'll be honest: I didn't really appreciate him back in Sunnydale. Couldn't figure out why this goofball was one of the people giving us orders, and when he lost an eye saving my life … well, the plain fact is that a part of me actually resented him for putting me that much in his debt, even if I was ashamed of feeling that way. After we spread out, though, trying to find and organize all the new Slayers and cover the major mystical hot-spots around the world … well, I started hearing stories. Xander single-handedly locating and recruiting nearly two dozen baby Slayers across Africa. Xander filling in at Cleveland House, outsmarting a rogue mage _and_ a visiting New York SVU team, and turning the place into a plum assignment for any Watcher wanting to get a distinguished tour on his record. Xander mixing it up with a biker gang across three states while he was returning a stolen egg to the Gul't'ach matriarch in Colorado, and heading off a nasty little war in the process. Xander rescuing a Slayer in Reno and the two of them taking out a cult leader to save _another_ Slayer, all with Robin Wood trying to sabotage him long-distance.

"I was still pissed off. I was ready to try something new. I wanted to see how much of the legend had any reality to it. And, yeah, I was curious to find out how the guy would deal with me when it was just the two of us … when I _was_ the job he needed to do."

Dr. Skudea was nodding. "From your description, one might say you were not actively looking for a quarrel, but still were rather hoping for one."

Kennedy shrugged. "You better believe I was ready to unload on him if he tried to give me any attitude or act like the boss. I was doing my best to play fair, though. Even ready to slap him down a _little_ bit just to show I wasn't about to be put in my place, but then stand back and see how it ran from there."

"Very self-controlled of you." The psychiatrist's tone was dry rather than barbed. "One matter would seem to be worth addressing, however. By all accounts, one of Mr. Harris's distinguishing features is an … acute protectiveness of those he terms 'his girls'. Which grouping would seem primarily centered around the Slayer Prime, her younger sister, and Ms. Rosenberg. You must have considered the possibility that, were there any negative residue from the dissolution of your relationship with one of his dearest friends, he would hold you responsible."

"I had an eye out for that, yeah." Kennedy sighed. "At the same time, I figured if he wanted to have it out with me over that, he'd just call or come see me, not offer a trial partnership."

"Sound reasoning, I would say." Dr. Skudea fixed her with a gaze of polite but piercing inquiry. "Given that circumstance, however, and the situation currently being assessed, I'm afraid I must now ask you the reason — or reasons — for your disaffiliation with Ms. Rosenberg."

Kennedy went very still at that statement: not frozen immobility, but the motionlessness of one who wishes to choose carefully before acting or speaking. Quietly, almost gently, she said, "That's not something I talk about."

"I'm aware of this," Dr. Skudea agreed. "And I respect the value and even necessity of privacy in such a personal matter. I believe you can see, however, that this has direct relevance to the decision I am called to make. I will guard your confidences, you have both my personal and my professional word for that … but _I must know."_

The stillness was still there; only Kennedy's lips had moved in the previous remark, along with a single deliberate blink. Now with the same tensionless softness she said, "What you're asking … that's not just my private life here, it's also Willow's. I didn't make her any promises, but this isn't mine to give away."

"And I shall disregard any elements that do not bear on our present situation, and dismiss them from my thoughts as soon as possible. Surely you must see, this is precisely the circumstance for which doctor-patient confidentiality originated."

"I'm not your client," Kennedy pointed out. "The new Council is."

"And on that basis, I will report to them the _conclusions_ I draw from these interviews," Dr. Skudea answered steadily. "The details, however, need not be revealed. The Council are my clients, yes, but you and Mr. Harris, here and now, are my _patients._ I hope you can appreciate the importance of the distinction."

Deliberately or not, Kennedy had fallen into the total relaxation that, paradoxically, enables the quickest action: instant, total attack with no previous tensing to serve as warning. Now some of the slackness went out of her muscles, and she rubbed her face with the back of her hand. "You only get this one," she said, her voice betraying the effort of not showing strain. "I can see it connects, I know there's a lot riding on it, so I'll go with it just this once. Don't ask for more. That would be bad."

Dr. Skudea nodded briskly. "Understood."

Kennedy's eyebrows drew together, her gaze focused inward and her lips pursed. "Xander didn't turn me straight," she told the psychiatrist. "And I didn't turn myself so I could be with him. I've always liked women _and_ men, just women about three times as much. Or maybe a better way of saying it is that I like certain _things_ that I find in lots of women and damn few men." She smiled suddenly, an expression of remembered pleasure almost vulpine in its delight. "Also, women's bodies are _yummy._ A woman compares to a man like a violin compares to a bass drum: you can just do so much more with the instrument." The smile faded. "But okay, I like men, too. Sometimes. Once in a while. Passing mood when I'm not already involved." Her eyes caught Dr. Skudea's. "Or if there's something really special about him."

Another nod: _Go on._

"The point is, I didn't change, or change myself. I _still_ like women better, and I'd be with one now except Xander isn't a woman. So I give up something I want, to get something I want more. My choice, and I know exactly what I'm doing and why.

"Willow … not the same. I'm technically bi, but at least three-quarters female pref, maybe even seven-eighths. Willow won't ever admit it, but I figure she's about two-thirds male pref. She was _nineteen_ the first time she ever got turned on by a woman, and she went with it because it was somebody she really loved, and … and now she won't let herself be anything else. She's all _Hello, gay now,_ till I started wanting to scream or punch her. I couldn't stand it anymore, I couldn't stand _her_ anymore, I just had to get out."

Dr. Skudea frowned slightly, twirling her pen in her fingers rather than making notes. "It was not a matter, then, of her orientation being less … intrinsically female-centric than your own … but of your belief that she wasn't being entirely honest with herself."

"Not just herself," Kennedy answered, grim-faced. "Look, I'm a woman who likes women, only right now I'm in love with a man, so I push away part of myself — well, not push away, it's still there even if I'm not using it — so I can follow what matters more to me. I'm making a deliberate choice, so I _understand_ Willow doing basically the same thing the first time she realized she could love a woman. Hell, I had to travel _farther_ from my baseline than she did to get to where I am now, so I'd be a hypocrite if I tried to hold her basic orientation against her."

"Yes, I understand," Dr. Skudea said. Then: "But."

"But if I wasn't with Xander, I'd be with a woman." Kennedy's face was flushed now, splotchy from the intensity of her emotion. "Wouldn't have to be love, either, I'd grab onto one just to be able to enjoy it again." She leaned forward. "That's normal for me. This, with Xander, it's not, but it's worth it. Without him, though, I'd _go back to normal."_ She stopped, looked down at her fists, and carefully unclenched them. "But Willow never will."

"Ah," Dr. Skudea said.

"She isn't 'gay now'," Kennedy went on bitterly, "because she was _never gay._ She was a mainly-straight gal with a solid part of herself that could respond to a woman if everything was lined up right … and it happened, and she fell in love, and then it ended, and ever after she's this dedicated one-hundred-per-cent lesbian, and it's _bullshit._ It's not because she wants women and only women, it's not even because she could go either way but she thought it over and decided gay was better. No, it's because letting herself want a man — ever again, _ever_ — would be a betrayal." Her fists were clenched again. "Not of me. Not of her 'true self'. No, it would betray a woman I never met, and that I wish was still alive because then I wouldn't have to _hate_ the bitch for being this _perfect fucking dead lesbian saint!"_

Dr. Skudea waited, expression perfectly composed, while Kennedy glared rage at (presumably) the dead woman still haunting both her and her former lover. Then, when the first fury had dissipated and the Slayer seemed to be regaining the reins of control, the psychiatrist said, deadpan, "I can't help feeling you're blocked off here. Let it out, tell me how you _really_ feel."

Kennedy stared at her, and then let out an involuntary whoop of laughter, quelled an instant later. "You know, you may work on projecting the uptight professional vibe," she said, "but you can be one cast-iron bitch when you want to."

"In therapy, as in all else, versatility can prove quite useful." Dr. Skudea nodded to the younger woman. "As it happens, however, you have more than adequately answered the question I posed. Unless other issues arise, I have only two more."

"Well, hooray." Kennedy tried to glower, but seemed actually to have been relaxed by her cathartic outburst. "Okay, go ahead, hit me."

"The trust between a Slayer and her Watcher is the single most important aspect of their partnership. More than the Slayer's determination or combat skills, far more than the Watcher's knowledge or tactical proficiency. Your performance with Mr. Harris, the things the two of you have accomplished together, strongly indicate that you have achieved this state. When, and how, did you first realize that it existed? that the two of you were in accord, as a working unit?"

Kennedy tilted her head up in thought, but only for a moment. "It was Baton Rouge. After that thing on the wharfs, I told you about that one. We'd got back to the motel room we were using as a temporary headquarters, and Xander headed for the Whataburger on the corner to grab us some chow while I pulled off my blouse to see if I could wash out the Connaught guts before they got set in the fabric. Now, this place is one that has the lavatory outside the bathroom, so I was running water over the blouse, rubbing the cloth together and then rinsing again, holding it up to the light to see if it was working, and I heard Xander open the door — no worries, I knew it was him — and when I looked away from the blouse, he was standing there with a fast-food bag in either hand, looking me over inch by inch."

"And I gather from the context," Dr. Skudea observed, "that you were entirely topless at that time?"

"Oh, absolutely," Kennedy agreed. "I never wear a bra on patrol, except maybe a sports bra and not this time. So, yeah, the girls were out and proud, and I'd caught a lot of spray from the fire hose so my nips were up, too. And there was Xander, scoping the view and making sure not to miss a single detail … and I could tell, by his expression and the way his eyes were moving — okay, his _eye,_ but he already had the prosthesis by then and it tracks the same way — just by the whole vibe he projected, that he was ignoring the goodies and checking me out for any wounds we might have missed."

Dr. Skudea smiled. "I can see how that might be reassuring. Or perhaps disappointing." A lift of an eyebrow. "Or both?"

Kennedy laughed. "No, you don't see, not really. The guy is a _legendary_ horndog. Not the kind who's always on the make, but he's maybe the world champion when it comes to appreciating female flesh. He's him, and I'm me, of _course_ he'd be turned on! So, if he wasn't, it was because he'd somehow switched off the part of his mind that registered and reacted to things like that."

She stopped, frowning, then looked to the doctor. "I knew it was important, knew it then, and I've never forgotten it, but I don't think I really understood it till I told it to you just now."

"Very well," the psychiatrist said. "And the meaning that you have perceived?"

"I already felt it," Kennedy said. "It's just, I can _see_ it better now. I'd trusted him with my life, and never been wrong, but this meant I could trust him with anything. I'd never have to be on my guard, because he was already doing that for the both of us." She rested one hand over the other on the tabletop. "And, at the same time, if he had to go _that_ far to keep himself cool when we were together, it meant I'd really got to him without trying or even knowing it. And that kind of caught my attention."

"Excellent," Dr. Skudea said. "Because that seems to lead into my second question. When, and how, did the relationship between the two of you become personal and then intimate?"

Kennedy's mouth turned in a wry smile. "It leads right in, yes. I knew he was smart, tough, _crazy_ inventive, totally reliable, and even fun to be around in that dorky way that he's polished to a high gloss. I started wondering what made him like that, because there are a lot of Slayers — even if I'm one of the best — and a lot of Watchers, but there's only one Xander. And I started trying to find out … and because fair is fair, I started letting him see me, too. The real me, or as close as I could get to it."

Dr. Skudea nodded, made a note. "Was the process rapid, or steady but cautious, or sporadic with periodic halts and reversals?"

"Slow and careful," Kennedy confirmed. "Neither one of us wanted to muck up something that was working, but both of us wanted to know more. And, no, it didn't actually lead to anything, it just laid a foundation. I wasn't looking to hook up with the guy, you know? But the more I learned, the more I wanted to learn."

Dr. Skudea nodded again, and simply said, "And?"

"And after a while …" Kennedy shook her head. "After a while, it started to get unsatisfying. Like one of those TV shows where, no matter how well it's written, you eventually realize they're never going to get off the island, he's never going to prove the aliens exist or catch the one-armed man. Things are happening, but nothing is _changing."_ She looked up. "When and how did the relationship get personal? Over those months. When and how did it get intimate? When I said to him, _If this is as far as we're going to go, we've gone as far as we can. We've checked the water; now we either jump into the pool, or we don't._ And he made a joke out of it, like he always does, he said, _All this time you've been swimming for a different team,_ but even though he kept his voice all light and casual, he was looking at me with those eyes — with that _eye,_ damn it, he's so natural about it I keep forgetting — and I told him, _I can be flexible, if it's something I want._ And I was expecting it to go on like that for a while, because we'd been walking around the edges for a _long_ time! But he just nodded, still looking at me, and didn't say anything at all. It was always going to be my decision, he'd never let it be anything else, so he was leaving it to me. So I put my arms around him, and he did the same for me. And then I kissed him, and he did the same for me. And from there … et cetera." She drew a long, carefully steady breath. "And we were still going slow and cautious … but by that time, 'slow' meant it wasn't till the next day that we finally wound up in bed."

Dr. Skudea nodded understanding. "And has that aspect been … acceptable?"

"The sex part?" Kennedy shrugged. "It's better with another woman, that'll probably never change. But this … this is Xander, and that makes all the difference that matters. For as long as he wants to keep this going, I'm in."

"I see." Dr. Skudea made three separate notes, underlined one. "Well, despite the fact that you found the entire interview unwelcome, you have been irreproachably forthcoming. I commend you on your professionalism in this matter."

"Good for me." Kennedy sat up. "So does this mean you're satisfied now?"

"Oh, no," the other woman said, shaking her head. "Not at all."


	3. Part 3

Part III

"The second of my final questions," Dr. Skudea said, "pertains to … well. What you have told me already attests to much of the relationship the two of you have forged. That, however, was built atop another, what you yourself described as primary: the Slayer-Watcher relationship. It seems clear that you and Ms. Kennedy could not have reached the point you have, had not that prior and more vital bond been already established and solidified. At what point, then, did you know — were you certain — that the Slayer-Watcher relationship had reached the proper level of function and professionalism?"

Xander smiled, shrugging. "Don't know if you could ever use 'professionalism' to describe anything I do, but I think I get your drift." He shook his head. "It's hard to say, actually. Ken and I were both experienced by then, just not with each other, and even there we had … I guess you could call it history. So we already knew how to do the job, it was just a matter of sanding off the rough edges."

"With your 'history', and your connection to prior conflicts, comprising some of those edges?"

"Some of 'em, yeah." Xander frowned in sudden thought. "Only not the way you might be meaning it. Ken has exactly _no_ tolerance for taking crap off anybody, but she's got her own kind of pride. Even if she'd've gone off like a cruise missile if I'd ever given her a single second's worth of attitude, she wasn't about to _start_ anything, 'cause that would've meant she was in the wrong. And, on my side of it, I knew I was juggling nitroglycerine there, so I was being triple-careful about _never_ doing or saying anything that might operate as a trigger. I didn't want a fight, she wanted to be sure she was justified if there _was_ one, and you basically wound up with two people tiptoeing around each other." His shoulders moved in silent laughter. "Took us a while to shake out of that part of things."

Dr. Skudea nodded acknowledgment. "Was there never an explosion, then, or were you able to handle it when it did occur?"

"It just never did," Xander said. "I knew better than to try and give her orders, so I'd put it like a question instead: 'What do you think, you plow straight through the front while I cover the back doors?' And after a while she started doing the same thing, and a little while after that, it was just how we did things and she wasn't watching for offense and I wasn't tap-dancing around a mine field."

Dr. Skudea regarded him with what could have been either doubt or carefully masked surprise. "It was a gradual transition, then, with no clear moment when you knew you had achieved the proper working relationship."

Xander looked up suddenly. "You know, I can't say when we got there, but there actually is a moment when I knew we _were_ there."

"Ah," the doctor said. "Go on."

"Maybe five months in," Xander said, "we were supposed to check out a _brujo_ in La Paz. Now, a lot of these guys, just because they're plugged into the magical community doesn't mean they're a threat or even a concern. This guy, though, he was getting a rep; could have been just jockeying for position, or he might have been consolidating his power for some … let's say aggressive expansion, so we were asked to eyeball the situation and send back a report.

"Well, we learned what we could at a distance, talking to people and picking up background info, but it was still kind of iffy, so we decided we needed to speak with the man himself. And we might not have known yet if he was a threat, but he sure decided _we_ were, the second he laid eyes on Ken he let out a howl for his guards and split out through your mandatory secret getaway exit. So the guards were Lei-achs, not exactly top of the line when it comes to demon muscle, but they take better than most to being organized. There were four in the room but more came running, Ken was going through 'em like a weedwhacker but it wound up with nearly a dozen of 'em in close quarters. Only three were still on their feet when she got to Bartolo's escape hatch … and she stopped for a second to look back at me, I said, "Got it!", and she was off like Speedy Gonzalez. The three that were left were all wounded, and I had to kill one but I persuaded the others that it was a lost cause, and they just grumbled a bit, looted the bodies, and wandered off."

Dr. Skudea smiled. "I believe I see," she said. "But explain it for me anyhow."

"Back when I was doing my Jimmy Olsen bit in Sunnydale," Xander said, "I got royally sick of people treating me like I had to be protected. It was true, which was one of the reasons I _hated_ it so much, and it took forever to get past it. The new Slayers, now, I had the opposite problem with _those_ kids; either they'd be so eager to go straight for the biggest ugly in sight that they'd forget _I_ was still there and eminently breakable, or they'd hear some of the stories Andrew passed down and figure I was this John McClane/Terminator type who didn't need any help.

"Ken knew better, knew me from our Sunnydale days, and we might have taken a little time to find our groove working together, but she always made sure I was covering her or her me, she wasn't taking anything for granted. Now, though … she'd looked, she'd checked, but when I gave the word she zipped out and left me with three wounded but still very pissed-off demon bodyguards. I told her I could handle it and _she trusted me to know_ whether or not I could." He shook his head, grinning at the memory. "It took me seven years to get Buffy to that point, and even then it was usually when she had no choice. Ken … well, I just can't tell you how good it felt to know that we were right with each other, that I was with somebody who counted me as a solid part of a solid partnership."

Dr. Skudea was nodding. "I am satisfied that I have learned the basics of what I needed to know. How I will word my report, which areas I will determine should be highlighted for further consideration, have yet to be determined. I believe, however, that I already know my general conclusion."

"Uh-huh," Xander said. "So, good news or bad for me 'n' Ken?"

"That is not my decision to make," the doctor answered. "I can only recommend, and my recommendation will be for a more comprehensive evaluation at a later time, after certain issues have been considered and evaluated at length." Her eyes met his without challenge or encouragement, simply a direct, frank gaze. "I will suggest those areas I believe to be most in need of further attention."

"I can imagine." Xander sighed. "A Slayer and her Watcher gettin' jiggy together … I always knew _that_ one would raise eyebrows somewhere down the line."

Dr. Skudea's own eyebrows lifted slightly. "Curious," she said after a long moment. "You were present for so many of the recent changes, you directly caused more than a few of them, and yet you appear to be genuinely unaware of just how far those changes have gone."

Xander considered that, his eyes on the psychiatrist. "Okay, I guess I'll have to talk to some people next chance I have, get a feel for how things stand these days. But, you kinda make it sound like I'm not exactly in trouble here."

"Not exactly," the doctor replied. "The old Council could afford to insist on stringent codes regarding Slayer-Watcher relations … which codes were largely appropriate, given that most Slayers were rather younger than Ms. Kennedy, and most Watchers markedly older than you. Too, in the time when a Slayer truly was 'one girl in all the world' — and the Watchers' purpose was to guide her into the combat that would inevitably kill her — any faintest whisper of conscience would insist that she not be subjected to sexual exploitation as well." Dr. Skudea closed her pad. "The principal concern now is to how such an affiliation could affect the people involved. With additional consideration, of course, to how that in turn would affect the mission."

"Huh," Xander said. "So it's really not that big a deal for them?"

"It could be," the doctor said, "depending on circumstances. But the thing itself? No." She gave him an amused smile. "Ms. Kennedy was in an explicitly sexual relationship with Ms. Rosenberg before you accepted her as a partner, and I don't recall any motions for censure regarding that."

"Okay, point." Xander scratched his head. "But Wil 'n' Ken were together while the new Council was still being organized. And Wil isn't exactly a Watcher, more the uber-witch of the West who also does a few Watcher duties. And … well, she's _Willow."_

"And, whether or not you recognize the fact, your own status is almost as intimidating, albeit in an entirely different fashion." Dr. Skudea shrugged. "Which is one of the reasons for this interview. Your stature is such that few would question you … and so I was tasked to do so."

"I guess I can see that," Xander said. "And, well, now that we've done our deal here, I wouldn't mind hearing what you think of the whole … _us."_

Dr. Skudea nodded. "Very well. I did not attempt a comprehensive analysis, either of the two of you as individuals or of the relationship itself. As each of you pointed out to me, you were both proven in this field before your own partnership began, which obviated many of the other concerns that might have arisen. My purpose was not to make certain that everything was all right, but to see if anything was clearly wrong."

"Got it," Xander said. "And?"

"Your working partnership, of course, is superb," Dr. Skudea said. "Aside, naturally, from your own propensity for taking staggering risks, but I understand that this is a long-established part of your innate identity, and that it can't be corrected by any means known to magic or science." She shook her head. "The personal relationship, however … In most other circumstances, the one potential flaw I saw on cursory inspection would be minor indeed, but you know very well that the life a Slayer-Watcher team faces is a far cry from 'most circumstances'."

"Potential flaw," Xander repeated evenly, his eyes steady on the doctor's. "I can already tell this is gonna be a wowser."

"It isn't particularly abstruse or complex," Dr. Skudea told him. "In the most basic terms, the relationship is lacking in the vital measure of trust."

"Tru–…?" Xander was gaping at her, for the first time since the beginning of the interview, and he caught himself. "We went over that," he insisted. "I _do_ trust Ken, trust her absolutely. I never could have let … let this happen between us if I didn't. If you can't believe that, after everything I've said —"

"What _I_ believe isn't the issue here," Dr. Skudea broke in briskly. "That would be what you and Ms. Kennedy believe. Yes, you trust one another with your lives and more, and with ample justification from all I can see. Neither of you, however, has any trust that your current affiliation will endure."

Xander's face had been darkening with suppressed anger, and now he said flatly, "That's bullshit. I know my history, I _know_ it. I cheated on Cordelia, I left Anya at the altar … I _hate_ that part of myself, and I swore I'd never let it screw things up again. I never would've got involved with Ken if I hadn't _known_ where I stood and how I felt." He was breathing more quickly now, his mouth tight. "I'm committed here. I wouldn't do anything less than _total_ commitment, not with Ken. She might change her mind on this but _I never will."_

Dr. Skudea sat quietly for the measured seconds that would allow this sudden anger to dispel, at least a bit, and then she said, "And that is precisely my concern."

Xander snorted. "What? That we're really serious about this?"

"That each of you is adamant about your own commitment … and each, _without realizing you have said so,_ is doubtful regarding the longevity of the relationship itself."

"I …" Xander stopped, blinking. "I didn't say —"

"You said 'she might change her mind on this'. Ms. Kennedy said 'for as long as he wants to keep this going'." Dr. Skudea sat back, regarding the poleaxed expression on Xander's face. "If it is any comfort, I believe this mutual insecurity derives from doubts regarding your respective senses of self-worth, rather than from lack of faith in one another. All the same, it is there, and needs to be addressed."

Xander slumped in his chair, still looking vaguely stunned. "I don't doubt Ken for a minute," he said at last. "But, let's face it, any relationship that includes me is probably gonna have the life-span of a housefly. And when everything blows apart, it's always because of something I screwed up."

"You seem reasonably self-aware regarding these issues," the doctor returned, "and determined that they shan't subvert your present partnership. And, of course, Ms. Kennedy doubtless has comparable reasons for lack of confidence in herself. These are for the two of you to deal with, along with whatever subsequent counseling my superiors choose to call for upon my report to them."

"Yeah," Xander said, his gaze inward-turned and unfocused. "Yeah, we'll get right on that." He shook his head. "I can't believe that Ken … that she thought _I —"_

"As I said," Dr. Skudea interrupted smoothly, "I believe this represents non-confidence in herself rather than in you. Honestly, the two of you seem rather desperately devoted to one another." She leaned forward. "One parting note. I have observed that you always refer to Ms. Kennedy by her surname, or a diminutive thereof, rather than using her given name."

Xander frowned, perplexed. "So? Kennedy is what she wants to be called, ever since … well, she showed up in Sunnydale doing it, and no telling how long before that. Most people don't even _know_ her first name, and that's how she likes it."

"You do know the name, however," Dr. Skudea said, nodding. "I believe you should talk to her about it."

Xander frowned slightly, and after a moment's hesitation he said, "I was always afraid it … it would seem a little creepy to her."

"Think of it as an exercise in sharing," Dr. Skudea said to him. "This is something about you that she does not know. It might not matter … but I suspect she would see it as trust."

"I —" Xander shook his head as if to clear it. "I'll think about it." He looked up. "So, are we done?"

 _"We_ are, for now," Dr. Skudea said. "You and Ms. Kennedy, however, are still very much a work in progress."

~ – ~ – ~

As soon as the door closed behind Xander Harris, Skudea stood and began briskly to undress. She had just finished when the connecting door opened, and another Skudea (who had dismissed Kennedy slightly earlier, and was now likewise _sans_ clothing) came in to join her. Four hands clasped, flesh flowed and merged and interwove, and within a minute the two 'women' had become one.

The complete Skudea was two inches taller and weighed nearly one hundred and ninety pounds of dense muscle and compact bone. Her divided halves compensated for the mass discrepancy with hollow bones, a honeycombed muscle structure, and expanded alveolar spaces, so that only a keen observer would ever note any difference in appearance. Whether divided or consolidated, however, she remained Skudea, her 'separate' selves part of the same singular consciousness. Which made 'couples counseling' — simultaneously interviewing two people in different rooms, though she was careful not to let either of them know it _was_ simultaneous — something that was easy, pleasurable, and rewarding.

Her remote ancestors had actually fed on human emotions. Skudea and her contemporaries had evolved to practices less extreme and less prone to attracting unpleasant attention, the flow of emotions now serving as an enhancement to her digestion rather than an obligate necessity. (It also made her, as a trained connoisseur, rather adept at determining the flavor and significance of those emotions.) The diplomas on her office wall were genuine; she had devoted considerable time, care, and effort to placing herself in a position that would allow her to meet her needs while remaining well clear of any threatening human radar …

… which emphatically did _not_ accord with involving herself, however tangentially, with the new Slayer-Watcher Council. But then, she'd not been given a great deal of choice in the matter.

Whole now, she dressed again, replacing her heels with an otherwise identical pair of flats. Then, suitably reconstituted, she seated herself at the desk, picked up her phone, and dialed the number she had been given. It was answered on the second ring.

"Skudea. I have completed my initial assessment.

"… I detect no sign of insincerity or of exploitative intent in either party. … No, I didn't expect that you would have any such suspicions of Mr. Harris, but this is to show that I applied my fullest efforts to the task you set me, taking nothing for granted and making no assumptions without evidence.

"… One cannot be certain of such things, but I would expect the relationship to endure. They are both well into adulthood now, with no major personality changes likely, and — whether or not in fact they are — they truly believe themselves to be committed to one another. I stress, again, that there are no guarantees of permanence, but the odds are good, and this is absolutely _not_ a casual matter for either of them. If the relationship does end eventually, it will not be from any lack of seriousness.

"… Yes, I am certain. Neither of them evidenced any suspicion regarding your involvement in this matter, though there were some stirrings in Ms. Kennedy that might have moved toward suspicion if I had continued the interview. Similarly, neither of them ever considered that the instruction to report for this assessment might not have genuinely come from their Council hierarchy. On which matter, I sincerely hope you have properly covered your own tracks; I believe attention from that quarter would be as unwelcome to you as to me.

"… That is assuredly _not_ a threat. If I ever intended any resistance or retaliation, I would not be so foolish as to give you advance warning. My point is that it is as much in your interests as mine that our current, erm, arrangement, should remain a private matter.

"… Yes, I spoke of the likelihood of follow-up interviews, because I wasn't sure how you would want to proceed. Little as I wish to do so, I will provide further counseling if you require it; that would certainly be preferable to the Council contacting me for my notes and inquiring how I know of their existence! If you decide this report is sufficient, I will send notification to Mr. Harris and Ms. Kennedy that the Council are satisfied with matters as they stand, and that it need not be spoken of further.

"… Perhaps so, perhaps not. That is for you to decide, Ms. Lehane. But then, it always was, was it not?"

Call completed, Skudea replaced the phone in its cradle, and sat at the desk, thinking deeply and with growing unhappiness.

Jump now, or stay in place and gamble that it would all hold together? She had another identity already established if she needed to abandon her current position, and the materials to produce more as necessary, for even with the current Council's more tolerant policy regarding 'integrated' demons, it didn't pay to become too complacent. Two things made her hesitate. First, the life she had constructed here for herself had (until the last few days) suited her perfectly, interesting and profitable and satisfying. Second, fleeing would probably be the _more_ dangerous option if Lehane chose to take offense at her doing so. Balanced against that was the prospect of coming to the notice of the larger Council; if they became worried that an empathic quasi-demon might have divined vital information from one of their premier Slayer-Watcher teams, they might feel it incumbent upon themselves to have said individual _deeply_ investigated. Skudea had behaved sedately for the last couple of decades, but there had been a few incidents in her younger days which would have a severely prejudicial effect on any human assessors. The thought of the Red Witch rummaging around inside her skull made Skudea think longingly of the charms of rural Kamchatka.

It was a blind coin-toss, a lady-or-the-tiger situation where there might be tigers behind _both_ doors. There was no 'best' choice; it was a matter of flicking through multiple undesirables and trying to settle on the least bad.

The irony was that Skudea had genuinely done good work in there today. Those two could have comprehensively undercut one another with subliminal _I don't expect you to stay_ messages. The underlying insecurity was still there, of course, but at least they _knew_ now. Not that it was likely to matter if the truth ever got out; some issues simply drove all others aside …

One peril, at least, she had avoided. Skudea could mate with humans, could even reproduce thereby if she chose to allow it … and, Kennedy's insistence notwithstanding, she had always found men's bodies entirely adequate for such recreational diversions. Not this time, though; whatever attractive force might emanate from the man, this was one supernatural female who had interacted with Xander Harris and _not_ become promptly ensnared.

Now if only, Skudea Jonell thought grimly, she could have contrived to avoid ever meeting him _at all —!_

~ – ~ – ~

Kennedy was driving because of course she was, and her situational awareness was so automatic that neither of them needed to pay any actual attention to the whizzing traffic as they worked their way out of greater Chicago and toward the point where they could pick up I-90 toward Pennsylvania. Which was fortunate, because they were arguing.

"I'm telling you, it was red."

"Sorry, Ken, can't go with you there. The lady's hair was a perfectly ordinary blonde. Maybe some brass notes, but that's as much as you could crowd it."

"Men just don't see as many colors, it's scientific fact. Blonde, yes, but _much_ more red-gold than yellow-gold."

"I lived with a woman who changed her hair every other week, and made me suffer if I didn't _notice._ Trust me, I learned to pay attention. No red, it just wasn't there."

"That's where your mind goes as a default because, two years after Her Most Awesome Buffyness finally settled down with the cradle-robber of her dreams, you're still fixated on blondes."

His laugh was easy and unstrained. "And you never-ever had a thing for redheads?"

Kennedy suppressed the near-automatic retort. They had been speaking lightly, even teasing, but this was an area where subcurrents had to be treated with some wariness. She still wasn't convinced the psychiatrist had been correct in her concerns, but she wasn't about to _make_ the woman right by ignoring the issues that had been raised. Looking for a more casual subject, she observed, "After that fun-filled afternoon, I could use a solid drink. What d'you say?"

Xander shrugged. "If we spot a place, sure. But I'll drive after that."

"Really?" Kennedy asked. "Are you _really_ gonna go there, Harris? Because you know I can drink you under the table any day of the year."

He laughed again. "I know you can operate at full capacity with a BAC that would knock a horse down … which means if any cop ever _did_ try a breathalyzer on you, it'd light up like a Christmas tree and maybe explode. So I drive."

Kennedy shot him a quick glance, one eyebrow curved and a half-smile. "Is this you being macho?"

He puffed out his chest. "Macho as it gets, baby."

"Uh-huh," she said, nodding. "Keep working on that."

Easily as she had spoken, she was still feeling a bit raw. The interview hadn't been anything like what she was braced for, and the shrink had touched not only on things she would have preferred to leave alone, but on some she hadn't even known were there. Had it been the same for Xander? He'd seemed as casual and unshaken as ever when they met again outside those offices … but he'd also been as eager as she was to make a quick departure.

Maybe they'd talk about that. Not right away, probably, but with a little time as a buffer …

"Did we ever really talk about your name?" Xander asked unexpectedly, breaking in on her train of thought.

"What?" Kennedy asked, briefly flustered. "No, why would we? You mentioned it, I told you I preferred 'Kennedy', I thought that settled it. Why?"

(Seriously, where did this come from? Did she _look_ like somebody who'd answer to 'Jessamyn'?)

"Well, see, the thing is …" Xander stopped, thought for a moment, shook his head. "You know what? it can wait. It'd take time to explain — explain it right, anyhow — and this just doesn't seem like the time."

"Suit yourself," Kennedy said with a shrug. Oh, yeah, she could tell they'd be doing a _lot_ of talking over the next few days, maybe the next few weeks. Damn that strawberry-blonde bitch for stirring everything up, anyway —

Kennedy mentally shook her head. No, this stuff truly did need to be dealt with, it was the feeling that it had been _forced_ on her that made her bristle. So, okay, she'd do it in her own way, in her own time, but she'd make sure it got done. Neither practicality nor personal honor let you junk a message just because the messenger had pissed you off.

… No, it wasn't the messenger, really, even though that Skudea snoot had most definitely rubbed her the wrong way. It wasn't even the knowledge that she was under judgment, that someone somewhere had thought a message needed to be delivered. No, what had gradually raised her hackles was a growing sense of something _else:_ something between the lines, unseen and unspoken, an agenda that might or might not be hiding but certainly wasn't revealing itself. Something that, regardless of how Kennedy figured into it, had more to do with Xander than with her.

So, what agenda, and whose? She'd have been suspicious of the shrink if either of them had ever met the woman before. With that ruled out (tentatively, might come back to it later), Kennedy figured the unstated purpose must belong to whoever had sent them in for eval. Someone inside the new Slayer-Watcher Council, someone with enough juice to pull a few strings. Someone concerned — one way or another — about Xander, and maybe about Kennedy's effect on him. Someone who preferred to keep something like this on the QT, to hide their own involvement and their own reasons for acting. Someone inclined to be nosy, and inclined to be sneaky about it.

Yeah. For a bit over two years, Kennedy had spent more than a little time with her face between the legs of someone who fit those specs to a 'T'. No way to be sure, but when you hear something go _quack,_ your first thought isn't _poodle._

If it really was Willow behind this, it was for damn sure she cared more about what _Kennedy_ might be doing to _Xander_ than vice versa. And Kennedy didn't know which thought chapped her more: that Willow was actually worried about this, or that she thought it was _any of her damn business in the first place._

"You get anything off the doc?" she asked Xander.

"Hmm?" He looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean did you catch yourself wishing you could bang her bones? or feeling like she wanted to bang _your_ bones, or maybe sacrifice your spleen to the unholy nether gods in her panini press?"

"Oh," Xander said. "I get it. 'Sweetbreads, bow down to Zuul!' " He sighed. "I know there's a history there, but it really doesn't work to try and use me as a demon detector. Seriously, it doesn't."

"Yeah, yeah, noted. Just answer the question, Harris."

Xander thought about it. "I didn't really notice, which I guess is kind of an answer by itself. I wasn't wondering how she looked without clothes, or trying _not_ to think about it. And she was all business, no subtext or double meanings or knowing looks. Very proper, a little starchy, _entirely_ no-nonsense." His brow furrowed slightly. "To tell the truth, I'd say she reminded me just a little bit of Gwendolyn Post, Mrs."

Kennedy had heard the stories. "That's not necessarily good."

"No, but she was one hundred per cent human, and she never noticed me. That kind of thing."

Kennedy considered it, shrugged. Then grinned. "I'll bet _you_ noticed, though. Post, I mean."

"Well, I kind of had other things on my mind back then," Xander said. "But I'll admit she looked better than linoleum."

Kennedy stared at him for a moment, then returned her gaze to the highway ahead. "I have no idea what on earth that was supposed to mean. And I'm really just a little bit afraid to ask."

"Then done here my work is," Xander intoned in a squeaky Frank Oz voice. Normal again, he added, "No cosmic hidden meanings, just a random memory." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Anyway, don't think I forgot that I'm not the only one with an eye for the ladies. What kind of readings did _you_ get off our friendly neighborhood couch-pilot?"

"Nothing, really," Kennedy said, shaking her head. "I didn't like her much, but I didn't get any kind of ripples off her, bad or good."

Xander waggled his eyebrows. "What, no subtext?"

 _Fair is fair,_ Kennedy reminded herself, only a bit grimly. _Fair is fair,_ **you** _asked_ **him** _the same thing._ Aloud she said, "Not my type."

"A little older than we usually go for," Xander admitted. "But not by that much. I know you love a challenge, and you've talked about how much fun it is to unwrap the ones who are wrapped just a little tight, show 'em how much wild was there waiting to be uncovered. So are you telling me there's no part of you, none at all, that wouldn't like to see the doc with her hair down? 'cause don't forget, you're the one who convinced yourself she had _red_ hair."

"I could go there," Kennedy said with a shrug. "But that's not what I was thinking at the time. Mostly I was just annoyed."

Xander nodded. "Pretty much the same here. But I want you to know, if you ever need to let that part of yourself out again, I'm okay with it. As long as I get to join in." He leered theatrically. "Or even just watch."

Kennedy burst out laughing; God, she'd come within a hair of _giggling_ just then! He wasn't even trying to be sleazy, but he was certainly trying to _look_ like he was trying. "In your dreams, Harris."

"Several of them," he agreed. "It's hope that keeps us alive." He settled back in his seat. "Same old Ken, then?"

"Bet on it," she assured him.

He nodded … and then, in exactly the same tone of voice, he said, "But you'll never leave me?"

She kept her eyes on the road ahead, but she could tell that he was looking at her, that his face showed everything he wouldn't dream of trying to hide. Her vision misted for a moment, and she blinked rapidly to clear it; then, reaching over to lay her hand on his, she said steadily, "I never will."

—

end

* * *

 ** _Special acknowledgment:_** In Part II, the stories Kennedy heard about Xander? 'Cleveland house/New York SVU team' is a reference to "Father Goose and the Black Knight" by Litmouse, and 'Slayer in Reno/cult leader/another Slayer' likewise points to Phouka's "Points of View". Both stories are eminently worth reading, and I advise any aficionados of BtVS and Xander to do so immediately.


End file.
